#already stripped the plastic cover off of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eff4freddie · 9 months ago

Text

Privates

Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You

Word count: 9k

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.

He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.

But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.

He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.

The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.

He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.

He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.

He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.

He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.

He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.

He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.

You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.

He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.

He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.

Sunday nights were dead. Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.

But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.

Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.

You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.

‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’

He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.

‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.

‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.

‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.

‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.

‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.

‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.

‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.

‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.

‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.

‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.

‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.

‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.

‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.

Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.

‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.

‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift.

You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.

Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.

He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.

Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.

‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.

‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.

‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.

‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.

‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.

‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.

‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’

‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.

‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.

In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.

Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.

He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.

He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.

He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.

A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.

Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.

‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.

He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.

Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.

‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.

‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.

‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.

‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.

‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’

‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.

‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.

You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.

He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.

They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.

‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.

He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.

‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.

For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.

So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.

The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.

The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.

‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.

Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.

He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.

He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.

He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.

He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.

‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.

‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.

‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.

‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.

‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.

‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.

‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’

‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’

Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.

‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.

‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’

‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.

‘Each other, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’

‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.

You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.

‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.

He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.

And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.

He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.

He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.

And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.

He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.

And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.

His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.

You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.

Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.

Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.

‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.

He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.

‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.

‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.

Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.

‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.

You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.

‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.

He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.

‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.

He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.

But he’s not cruel.

‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.

He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.

‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’

You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.

‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’

You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’

God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.

Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.

You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.

‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’

And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.

There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.

When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.

He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.

He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.

He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #joel miller x female reader

460 notes · View notes

submattenthusiast · 4 months ago

Text

KINKTOBER christopher sturn cock ring

"no please i'm sorry don't make me" chris tried to make you change your mind. he knew he couldn't control himself in public, especially not with his friends around. "sorry isn't gonna cut it christopher, pants down" you demanded.

you grabbed your new toy and connected it to your phone while he stripped his lower-half. chris stood with his head down. regretting acting out already, he didn't wanna go to the party anymore. not like this.

he squirmed around the whole car ride, trying to adjust to the object tightly wrapped around his dick.

chris tried to relax, you hadn't turned the toy on so maybe you were going easy on him. he began chatting with mutual friends and grabbing a drink. nate, madi, and sam walked over to chris and started talking to him.

you watched chris from across the room, waiting for the perfect time to mess with him. you smirked when his friends joined him at the table. you opened the app phone on your and turned the toy on. you watched chris choke on his drink the small vibration. he brushed it off as it just going down the wrong pipe.

chris continued to converse with his friends as you studied him to find the the right moment to tease him again. he was listening to madi tell a story when you set the toy to the second level. chris jolted forward at the powerful vibrations against his dick. nate gave him a weird look but tried to not to bring it up.

chris gripped the table for stability as the ring sent vibrations throughout his lower half. he made eye contact with you, begging for you to go easy on him. you smiled and motioned towards his friends mouthing a "focus" to him. he nodded and tried to focus on the conversation that was being had around him.

"dude you alright, you actin' funny and nothin' special is in that cup" nate asked, looking him up and down. "just dizzy man" he lied, trying to get the attention off of him.

chris tried his best not to give a physical reaction but it was getting difficult. the pleasure was getting to him and he didn't know how much longer he could last. it was so hard to keep a poker face as the cock ring did it's job. he was holding back and you could see it all over his face, and you didn't like that, you wanted to break him.

you switched it to the highest setting and watched him struggle to keep it together. his nails dug into the plastic cup and he let a moan slip. chris attempted to cover it up by quickly clearing his throat. nate and madi exchanged a look at chris' weird behavior. you looked down at his pants to see the material shaking a little, from the toy and his cock twitching his pants

you laughed to yourself and you watched him attempt to have a conversation with madi. you set the toy back to the lowest setting to let him relax a bit before starting your shenanigans again. he sighed in relief and started speaking "and so i was telling matt–" chris started but couldn't finish as you turned the intensity back up.

"oh fuck–" he moaned as he came in his pants from the sudden stimulation. his body jerked as he came harshly. chris forgot where he was for a second and let himself go fully. his cheeks burned red as he made eye contact with you across the room, you smiled and pointed to his friends, that were looking at him bewilderedly. so much for secrecy.

#jules writes 📓 !!#jules kinktober 𓉸ִֶָྀི

391 notes · View notes

yelenasdiary · 4 months ago

Note

Reader x Vampire!Kate at a halloween party where reader thinks Kate is just a hot girl in a really good vampire costume (instead of those crappy fake plastic teeth) and doesn’t realize until Kate is buried deep inside her, strap and teeth, that she just is an actual vampire

Hunger

Pairing: Vampire! Kate Bishop x GN! Reader

Summary: A fun hook up turns your life upside down.

Dark Angst, Smut 18+ ONLY! Minors & Men, DNI!!

Warnings: Top! Kate, Strap On Use, Oral (R Receiving), Fingering (R Receiving), Mentions of Blood, Kinda Murder? But also, Not? Mentions of drinking | 1.5K

AC: Thank you for sending this! I hope you enjoy! x

October Special Masterlist 2024

The room was vibrant with different costumes, small talk and chilling laughter. With a drink in your hand, your eyes were locked on the tall dark-haired woman from afar. You watched as she mingled with those around her while she sipped on the drink in the red plastic cup in her hand, just wondering who she was. Unable to take your eyes off her, you were glad you decided to go with dressing up as Wednesday Addams with some of the compliments you received from people passing by you.

“Your costume looks great! You’re killing it with that stare too!” One would comment, making you break character to give them a light chuckle and a thank you before your eyes would drift back to the unknown woman. With a few more sips of your drink, you decided to talk to her. Walking through the small crowd of people, you finally greeted her with a soft smile.

“I like your costume” you said, now closer to her you were able to really take in the detail she had put into the outfit. Her long cloak from afar looked black but up close you could tell it was a dark purple, the inside was a shade of lighter purple. “It’s the best I’ve seen here tonight” you added as she turned around to face you. Her purple vest stood out perfectly against the black shirt she wore underneath, you liked the fact she didn’t go for the standard black and red vampire look.

“Thank you” she smiled, “your costume is great! Can never go wrong with Wednesday” she added with a light chuckle. You couldn’t help notice how high quality her fangs were, they looked natural as if she was born with them.

“Oh this? Thanks! I just threw it together last minute”

“You must be one of many talents then” the woman whose blue eyes danced with the fairy lights that hung from the roof, smiled softly. “I’m Kate” she added.

“Y/n, this might be a little too forward but forgive me, can I get you a drink?” You offered. Kate nodded, “you’re in luck, I just finished mine”

You gave Kate a soft smile before you wandered over to the drinks table and pour the two of you a fresh drink before returning to her.

“So, Y/n, do you always stare at people at parties?” Kate asked, taking you by surprise.

“Oh, I’m so sorry” you said with light laughter, “I really was admiring the details of your costume. I thought I did a somewhat decent job at not making it obvious that I was staring” you add.

“It’s more of like a sixth sense, but I’m glad you like my costume” Kate smiled, easing your worries that you might have scared her off. The tips of her fangs piercing over her bottom lip gave you another reason to admire them once more before the soft sound of the next radio hit song started to play in the background. Kate’s head naturally starts bopping to the tune, “would you like to dance?” You asked.

“You dance, do you?” She questioned.

“Not the best but I’m pretty sure nobody will notice that since most people are already tipsy or drunk” you replied with a light chuckle.

“Maybe your moves will cover up my horrible moves then” Kate smiled once more before the two of you moved away from the corner of the room.

The cheap LED light strips flicker between red and orange colors, Kate’s hands placed on your hips while you twirl in her hands. She pulls you closer into her allowing you to press yourself up against her, there’s no point in acting as though you didn’t feel the packing bulge in her black jeans. You look up at her with a soft smirk, “sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you” Kate whispers, playfully.

“It’s a good startle” you replied.

You move together, losing themselves to the music, your bodies swaying in perfect harmony. The environment around you fades like magic as if it’s just you and Kate in the room. She leans down slightly from behind you, “do you wanna get out of here?” She whispers closely to your ear. You nodded softly with a growing smile on your lips.

----

Your soft moans filled the room of Kate’s studio apartment, one hand tangled in her hair while the other gripped the black silk sheets of her bed. Her tongue swirling around your clit while two fingers pumped in and out of you. “G-god!” You moaned, throwing your head back, “don’t s-stop!” You added as Kate began to lap at your soaked cunt, removing her fingers to dive her tongue inside you.

“F-fuck!” The word left your lips between moans, Kate’s tongue speeding up, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. Your heartbeat fastened, your back began to arch, you were close until she stopped, teasingly.

“Hey!” You groaned as Kate kissed up your body to your neck and finishing at your lips. “I just want to see how pretty you look for me when I sunk myself into you” she spoke while she leant back and began to undo her belt. Your cunt throbbed for more, your hand wandering down to touch yourself only to be pushed away by the brunette, “don’t you dare” she said, her eyes flickering up at you as she finally released her purple strap from her jeans.

She slid the tip of the fake cock between your wet folds, making you moan once more when she brushed over your clit before slowly sinking into you. She allowed you a moment to adjust to her but with the alcohol in your system and her hovering over you with her deep blue eyes, you couldn’t help yourself by pulling her down to your lips and kissing her.

“Please move” you smiled sweetly against her lips before she began to move her hips. She started slowly, capturing your every soft moan and the way your eyes slightly rolled back while she pumped in and out of you. “God, I bet you taste so sweet” she groaned as she sped up her movements.

You didn’t catch onto her words as she lent down, placing kisses on your neck. The blood rushing through your veins making her run her tongue over her lips with hunger while she continued to leave marks on your neck. Your nails digging into her naked and cold back, drawing small lines of blood as Kate drew back her fake cock just to thrust it back into you.

The feeling of the tips of her fangs brushing against your neck made you throw your head back ever so slightly, allowing her more access to your neck. One of Kate’s hands found yours, interlocking fingers with you just as you arched your back, pressing up against her. She couldn’t take it for a second longer, her fangs fully exposed before the sunk into your neck at the perfect timing. Your orgasm took over your body, your legs shook, locking Kate in place by wrapping them around her waist.

The warm and velvety taste of your blood quickly became addictive to the vampire. The sharp pain of her fangs sucking your blood straight from the source overlooked with pleasure. Your soft moans in her ear making her crave more, sinking her fangs deeper before you were shortly hit with horror as she sucked the life from you. Like letting the air of a balloon free, you felt her stealing your blood, her strong body keeping you from pushing her off. Your nails digging deeper into the skin of her back as your vision faded to a cold darkness.

It took every bone in her ice-cold body to stop herself from killing you completely. She pulled back, the last precious drops of your blood falling from her fangs, staining the sides of her lips before she licked them clean and with care, she slowly pulled out of you before she took off her strap and left the room to grab a warm washcloth. She cleaned you up thoroughly, placing an ice pack over the bite mark where her fangs once were before she sat in the armchair in the corner of her room.

She often found herself sitting here and watching another busy street in New York crowding with people but this time, her chair was facing her bed. The faint and slow sounds of your heart beating made her wonder why she hadn’t put you out of your misery completely. Your blood a curse to her, she would never be able to taste you like this again.

With every passing minute, your heartbeat got closer until eventually Kate was sitting in complete silence. Her eyes glued to you as you began to wake up, your eyes now a deep red as you looked around the unfamiliar room before you sat up. Kate smiled softly as she watched the red in your eyes fade to a pot of honey like color, your mouth opened slightly to speak, “I know sweet thing” Kate said before any words could leave your lips.

“You’re hungry” she added.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #anon #fanfiction #marvel #Kate bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate bishop x you #Kate Bishop smut #kinktober

303 notes · View notes

courtingchaos · 1 year ago

Note

Was having thoughts earlier about surprising Eddie naked in his room with just his guitar covering you (a la Jenny in Forest Gump)

No but this could be so cute or super dirty but I’m in a big ol soft mood. (Also another ask I missed apparently! God damn!)

Fast and dirty (aka I didn’t read this back!)

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Arranging yourself just so, trying to figure out how to drape yourself around it without flashing him a nipple since it’s such an angular body. He’s going to go crazy for it regardless but you have a vision in your mind for it and you want it just right.

You even tidied up his room for him, and that’s not something you’ve ever done, you just needed flat surfaces for the little glass votive candles you bought at the dollar store. Romance, but sexy romance. He’s been working so hard, you’re Eddie, ever since Wayne got him a job at the plant. He’s working seconds while his Uncle works thirds but it’s just as long and he deserves a little surprise.

You get to the trailer just as Wayne is leaving and he deftly avoids looking at your handful of plastic bags or the overnight one slung on your shoulder. It’s none of his business what happens when he’s out of the house between you two, just gives you smile while he holds the door open for you. Tells you to stay out of trouble. Tells you to not light the curtains on fire.

An hour, tops, before Eddie stomps into the trailer so you work fast and almost forget to strip when you sit on the bed with the guitar. A little bit of a foolish feeling like you’ve never been naked in this room before. Hell, Eddie even has a picture shoved in his wallet of you lying under his sweetheart. His ideal centerfold is what he’d said when you’d turned bashful.

You notice the time and turn off the lamp so you can perch on his bed in the candlelight. Again with that foolish feeling when he’s a few minutes behind and you sit in silence for just a little too long, almost long enough to turn around and look out the window except you can hear the storm door creak and the key turn in the lock. Anticipation as he goes through his routine of coming home; dropping his keys and his coat, kicking off his boots and throwing his overshirt directly into the washer.

“Hello?” He sing songs down the hallway while the fridge opens and closes, the tinkling of a bottle cap hitting the countertop making you curl your toes.

“Down here.”

He must notice the lack of light under his door so he opens it slowly. A tentative turn of the handle before he pushes it in with a light tap. His curls precede him when he tilts his head in and you can already see the smile curled into his cheeks. “Well this is romantic.”

“Yeah I can do that sometimes.”

Finally he takes a full step in while taking a sip of his beer but he stops all his movement when his eyes adjust in the disappearing sunlight and soft glow from your candles. The bottle pops away from his mouth and you giggle at his wide eyes roving over you. He keeps glancing down at your legs, crossed at the knee and bouncing slightly with your nerves. You try not to grip the guitar too tight but it’s a lifeline right now while he digests the scene in front of him.

“What’s this for?” He asks quietly, hands hanging at his sides, beer forgotten.

“Well, I thought you could teach me a few chords?”

“Teach you-!” His voice cracks in his surprise and he laughs quietly behind his hand he holds to his lips. “You want me to teach you a few chords while your…doing all this.”

“Unless you don’t want to.” There’s hesitation now because he seems to only be laughing and you’re not sure if thinks this is absurd after a long days work or if he’s finding the effort funny.

“No!” He starts finally. Jolts to put his beer down on the dresser and holds a hand up. “No this is perfect.” He pads over to the bed before toeing off his socks and kneeling next to you, a palm finding your cheek to cradle it. “This is gonna keep me totally focused.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah see,” he swings his other knee onto the bed and shuffles till he’s behind you, that palm sliding down off your cheek to brush back your hair over your shoulder, “I can hold your hands over the strings. Like this.” He hooks his chin on your shoulder and stares at the dark space between you and the body of his guitar. His hands cover yours and he lines them up finger for finger so he can pull your hand up and down the neck, slowly, suggestively. His juvenile humor makes you laugh but it also sets your belly afire with want.

“So what are you gonna teach me first, Mr. Munson?”

“Call me Eddie, please.”

“Okay Eddie. What chord?” You cheese at him, playing into his bit.

“I think you should start with a D chord.” For all his suppressed giggles and blushing cheeks he does press three fingers into yours for the right chord. “It’s a good one.”

“Feels like a stretch.” You turn your head to look at him still staring at your cleavage pressed into the red and black body.

“Yeah, but you’ll learn to like it.” He drags his gaze up to settle on your lips. “Here, stay like that.” He moves his hand off your on the frets so he can pull your hair back from your neck. “Then strum with this hand-ah, not so fast. Slower.”

“Jesus, Eddie.” You chuckle at him and his innuendos.

“What? You gotta go slow, baby.” The tip of his nose runs along your neck before his lips do, just a ghost of a touch while you gently bounce your hand on the strings. “See?” A firmer press of his lips now. He smells like coffee and metal, heat from under his layers that mixes with his waning cologne. He drops his other hand from yours to sneak it around your side so his fingertips graze the bottom swell of your breast. “You make her sound better than I ever did.” Mumbled into your skin and the space you’ve created while your head lolls to the side. A single note played softly over and over while he envelopes you slowly. One hand inching up further to palm at your chest, the other grasping and crawling over your thigh and seeking out the heat between them.

You stall for a moment when his fingers brush your mound but he clicks his tongue at you.

“If I’m distracting you, I can stop.”

“No!” A sharp hit of the strings while you get back into the monotony of it and Eddie’s fingers continue their journeys. He coaxes your knees apart before settling behind you and pulling you back into his chest. The guitar shifts and your chest is hit with cooler air but his palm covers one tit, rolling your hardening nipple under his calloused hand.

“Keep it up.” He pulls your knee up before letting his hand glide down your inner thigh and only coming to stop when he can dip a finger into your wet heat. Both of you gasp but you loose the thread of concentration and suddenly his touch is missing. “I’m serious.” His smile is evident in his voice, his mirth brimming at you being at his mercy. “Keep going and I’ll make it worth your while.” He helps you rearrange your fingers before he’s drawn back to your warmth, fingers gliding aimlessly through your folds while you try to keep your mind on the right path. The tip of his fingers flick up over your clit in small burst that stay just out of reach of any real pleasure. Nothing that will last or make your eyes roll but they make your leg jump with every brush against that bundle.

“I’ll have you playing Slayer by the end of the night if I keep this up.” He’s so casual behind you and all you can do is nod. Laugh through your nose and nuzzle the back of your head into his collarbone; slump down further into his fingers that are finding their purpose now. Gentle prodding at your entrance that you breathily encourage and Eddie joyously teases before dipping in and finally making your eyes roll back. The steady strum of the guitar sounds softer now but you couldn’t really care especially when his teeth find your earlobe. Heavy breathing in your ear while he works his fingers in and out, curled up to find that spot that makes you go taut with pleasure.

Your grip on the guitar is loosening, barely a sound coming from it now that he’s got you pinned under both hands. “Eddie I-“

“Don’t drop her.” A swift pinch of your nipple makes you yelp and hold it back up against your torso, if only for a moment before you turn to butter in his lap. “I’m cutting you some slack here, gorgeous.” He grinds the heel of his palm down against you and you try to roll your hips into his hand, a circle of delight that has you almost forgetting what this whole thing started as. There’s a catch when Eddie adjust to curl over your shoulder and every graze of his fingers along your insides makes your vision go white.

“Eddie, fuck!”

“Yeah?” It just drives him harder, those dimples a threat to your sanity when he starts abusing his newfound toy. “Right there?” He asks even though he knows just by the way you buckle against him. The hand at your chest holds you to him like a vice and he pushes you further towards the edge. One well placed wet kiss against your cheek and a heavy drag of his fingers and your tightrope snaps, plummets you off the face of the earth for a few silent moments while Eddie lets you ride off the aftershocks on his hand.

In your bliss you feel him pry your fingers off the neck of his guitar and he swings it away to lean it on the dresser. “You didn’t let her drop. Good job.” A kiss pressed to your sweaty forehead.

“I can listen.”

“Not very well. You stopped playing.” He pulls his undershirt over his head and starts working on his belt. “I don’t know if you got the full understanding of exactly how you should play a D chord.” His grin is salacious while you stretch out on his bed, waiting for him to finish his joke. “And while you might be my favorite student, you need to learn some better studying habits.” He points a mocking finger in your direction.

“And how should I go about that?” You watch him stand and shed the remainder of his clothes. “You’re a terrible distraction Eddie.”

He climbs back onto the bed to hover over you, mischief in his eyes while he plays with the ends of your hair, a smile and a laugh directly softly at you. “I think I have the perfect tool to help you.”

#asks!#My Fic #Eddie Munson Fic #Eddie Munson Fluff #Eddie Munson Smut #Eddie Munson x Reader #is this what you were looking for? I hope so #if not my bad I got carried away

417 notes · View notes

mechaprincessgirlgutsgore0 · 3 months ago

Text

⚠️ i really need to talk about metal crushers

of course to the uninitiated (and sane in the head) these things are just normal industrial machines. they take in bits of metal and spit out scrap rubble.

but to me these are so much more. deeply erotic machines. of course all machines are erotic, but these especially.

to a human, it’s unthinkable. these machines are not toys, they’re dangerous. it would hurt, and not even in the good way.

but to a robogirl?

Well, you’ve been in service a while. 12 years on the front line. a combat android is a complicated instrument. you’ve been good, loyal. but age comes for us all. today’s models roll off the production line with their shiny composite cladding and deadly precise weapons, but you’re one of the oldest models still in operation. many of your components are proprietary, and no longer manufactured. you’re too much risk. a liability.

the human integration and normalisation program is as good as useless. the humans who are left hate your kind. really, the only option is decommissioning. once all your reusable parts are stripped out, we’re left with a barely-functioning shell. i’m sure you’d love to be let loose, but i’m afraid we can’t do that. serial numbers. engineering secrets. drives. it’s in the interest of national security that you’re disposed of in a safe way.

so you’re fed into the crusher, right foot first. the grinding wheels struggle to grip the smooth plastic panels, but once it’s got you, it’s got you. already you know you’re past the point of no return. the slow churning of the wheels start marching along your foot, cutting it to pieces. then, it reaches your ankle. with a horrible grinding noise, it closes around the joint, and an incredible snap is heard as it gives way. the teeth devour the shredded joint, as it begins working its way up your leg.

the steel blades rip through your hydraulic hoses. a viscous, golden liquid spurts from the pipes, coating the shredder, the gears and your body with a thick layer of oil. it drips through the scrap ejection chute, and from the walls of the shredder funnel. eventually, you are dragged down to your knee joint, and a thundering crack is heard as it is crushed in the jaws of the beast. yet still, the hungry maw of the crusher keeps spinning, demanding more.

It inches up your thigh. your left leg, still not yet claimed by the crusher’s ravenous appetite, is pinned up by the funnel walls that frame the hungry machine. you feel your hip joint groan with stress as the leg is wrought beyond its specified limit. by now, your injury warning system is screaming. voltage spikes ricochet back and forth from your digital mind to your synthetic body. the systems demand action, but you know there is nothing you can do except make it worse. still, the blades of the machine crawl higher. it knows no avarice, yet continues to spin, as that is all it knows.

as you sink deeper below the undulating mass of gears, your left leg is contorted further, and further, and further, until with a violent CRUNCH the bolts and panels give way, and your thigh is ripped from its socket. cables stretched by the failure are quickly shredded to bits, as you are pulled lower into the belly of the beast.

soon after, the teeth bite down onto your crotch. the plastic cover panel is immediately torn away, revealing your lower chassis, but only briefly, as it is soon chewed up with the rest of your lower torso by the relentless milling of the grinder. hydraulic fluid and coolant paint the funnel walls once again, lubricating the jaws of the animal. the wheels do not rest. they cannot rest. they can only devour, pulling you deeper to hell.

the grinding gears keep crawling further up your torso, as if looking for another limb to claim. it soon catches your fingers, which are immediately swallowed by the steel void, wrenching your arm out of your control. your complex hand mechanism is disintegrated in its maws. soon, it takes your other hand, and at that point it declares victory. you are now totally incapacitated, pinned in place by the steel teeth of this creature, pulling you ever deeper. however, you are still concious. you get to watch as your body is slowly cut into ribbons.

The beast creeps upwards. you are dragged down into the metallic waves, as if weighed down by concrete shoes. your automatic reaction systems screech out for some action, any action. but no action can be made. your plastic panels are splintered and pulled apart. your circuit boards are ground to dust. Eventually, the monster reaches your head. the metal blades close around and dislocate your jaw, effortlessly tearing through the shiny faceplate you used to take so much pride in. those rosy painted lips, torn away from you by the monster. your entire being, your memories, your ideas, emotions, desires, all cut to pieces. you have barely time to think before the teeth crunch down on your eye assemblies, shattering the glass and camera arrangement. you feel the back of your head being torn apart, and the cold steel edge crush your drives, your memory, and your CPU. you are no longer responsive.

#nsft #robogirl #wrote this at 3am #wrote this at 3am AFTER WRITING IT AT 1AM AND THEN ACCIDENTALLY LOSING IT WHEN TUMBLR CRASHED

121 notes · View notes

whimsijoy · 2 months ago

Text

steve harrington helps his nurse fiancee get ready for work when she's called in too early ☄. *. ⋆

wc: 1.3k

warnings/about: reader gets called in early for a bus crash, no description tho. fluff, breakfast is made, steve harrington my house husband <3 set in like 1989, sorry if there’s inaccuracies i wasn’t born yet lol

a/n: omg its finally winter break, and then I got sick, but it was christmasssss so I got a new laptop. i shall be a menace made of clicky keys

—

You wake up to the tinny ring of the phone by your and Steve’s bed. You barely have enough time to compute what’s going on, what time it is, before you have the pale green plastic pushed to the side of your face, your own fingers gripping the plastic loosely.

You squint at your alarm clock and make sure that you’re not late for work. Considering the fact that your shift wouldn’t start until 10:00 AM, and the short hand of your alarm clock is hovering around the 5. Unless Steve decided to dose you with a horse tranquilizer, you’re sure you’re being called in early.

“Hello?” You rasp out silently. You’ve learned that Steve sleeps like he’s been given horse tranquilizers. You’re sure that he’s slept through an earthquake before.

“Hello,” You hear a familiar voice drawl through the handset. “—is this Miss [L/N]?” Is it Amy or Priscilla? You’re too tired to compute that information, other than the fact that it’s a coworker.

“Yeah, Mhm.” You say a little more clearly as you prop yourself up on your elbow, your adjacent hip digging into the mattress beneath you.

“So, unfortunately, there was a bus crash right outside of town, and the nurse-to-patient ratio is just… completely out of whack. Would you be able to come in? We’re willing to pay you overtime for this.” The voice explains through the phone. You figure it’s Priscilla talking since she’s the chattier one.

You stare at the clock, your log of a fiancée, the ceiling, and then the window before sighing. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that. I’ll be there within the hour or so.” You mumble into the handset with your head hung.

You know you’ll be abusing that staff room coffee machine the second you get there, so you don’t bother making your way into the kitchen once you get out of bed. You plunk the handset back onto the boxier part of the phone before stretching your body so hard that you have to sit back down on the edge of the bed.

A few deep breaths and some slower movements later, you’re starting the shower. You strip yourself of the nice pajama set Steve bought you for your most recent birthday before stepping under the shock of the water.

You go about your shower routine for the day, your tired hands grazing the lathered loofah all over your body until you deem yourself clean enough for work. You step out, dry off, and wrap yourself in your robe before venturing into the closet.

After putting on your starched whites, which Steve so dutifully washed for you, you’re in front of the mirror trying to make it look like you’re not running on an inadequate amount of sleep. It’s easier said than done, or so you’ve figured out. However, you feel lucky that your hospital has allowed you to switch from dresses and skirts to white, open-collared shirts and trousers.

While brushing your teeth, you watch the bathroom door behind you slowly creak open. By the time Steve shows his tired face in the gap, you’re already making dead eye contact with him in the mirror. You’ve been caught.

Steve’s too tired to be stern. Instead, he gets clingy. He lets out a yawn before covering your shoulders with his hands, and then pressing the front of his left hip to your right glute. You continue the movement of brushing your teeth and gums as he starts pressing lazy kisses to your neck.

“What’s with the getup?” He mumbles into your shoulder blade. The corners of your mouth turn up around your toothbrush before you spit out the white foam.

“They’ve called me in early.” You say matter-of-factly, to his dismay. He lets out a soft whine before returning to his posture to normal.

“You weren’t going to tell me?” He asks without any heat behind it. For this time of year and time of day, he’s either too soft or tired for it.

“I was..” You say around your toothbrush before finishing up, going to brush your tongue last. You spit out the last of the water and put your toothbrush back in its holder. “..just before I was going to leave.”

“Like your foot was going out the door?” He asks as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. Again, there’s no malice in his tone or anything. He wishes you woke him up, but that’s a hard enough feat on a weekend. Oftentimes he wants to rub your shoulders before you even think about moving.

“Probably.” You say with a brandish smile. You take out your compact and do something quick about the lack of life you have around your eyes. Ooh, shimmery.

You pin your hair out of your face and tie it up accordingly, then pin your hat on before turning to him with a soft, glossed smile. He doesn’t look as nearly as awake as you do, but, you feel the way he looks. You give him a kiss so that your lips match his, then smile even harder.

“You should have told them no,” He mumbles out as you leave the bathroom in search of your shoes. “you have a shift later today anyways, so like…” Steve says as he follows you.

“Yes, but there was a bus crash, and I’m getting paid overtime.” You explain gently as you tie your shoes. You feel your stomach gurgle and growl as you bend to do so, and Steve just can’t have that.

“Want me to make you something to eat before you leave?” He asks softly, his hand going to the small of your back as you finish the bow.

“Mm.. Something quick. I’m supposed to be there soon.” You say softly as you rub the back of your neck. You feel a kind hand on you, a wave of disappointment, and then hear the sounds of socked feet out of the bedroom, then down the hallway. You stifle a laugh when you hear a thud, and a soft “Ow” come from your significant other.

One more look over in the mirror later, you’re walking out of your bedroom. You have that awful feeling that you’re forgetting something before you spot your bag on the counter. You smile at Steve and the way he’s standing in front of the toaster like he’s the one that’s running late.

“Thank you, honey.” You say softly, mirroring his pose. You quit the getup soon enough and go to return some of his clinginess from this morning. Your lips leave behind a glossy ghost on his neck, but he doesn’t wipe it away.

He grumbles something in response to your words of gratitude, and you only smile wider. You consider sneaking him into work with you. Men can be nurses now, right? You ask yourself. You press a few more kisses to his cheek and neck for good measure before pulling away, still smiling.

In the dim kitchen light, you trace the shapes on his face with your eyes. The points of his nose, the angle of his jaw. You feel a pit well in your chest when you realize that you have to leave for work in just a few minutes. He’s so kind to you, that you start to feel guilty. You know that he probably wants you back in bed, even more than you do but… duty calls.

Sooner than later, he has a plate with peanut butter toast and a banana on the side. You eat it happily, but carefully (so as to not stain your uniform), and make sure that you don't have any stray crumbs on your face, or starched whites before you leave. You make light conversation, ask what the rest of his plans for the day are, and put your plate in the dishwasher.

You make sure that he knows you love him, and that you’ll stay safe. You try to call him once you get to work, but there’s no answer. You smile to yourself, knowing he’s asleep in some uncomfortable position on the couch. You carry on with your day and count the minutes until you get home. (540 and counting.)

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x nurse!reader #nurse!reader #fluff #stranger things steve #stranger things fluff #steve harrington fluff #househusband #house husband steve harrington #robin buckley #jax’s blurbs

124 notes · View notes

shiyorin · 3 months ago

Text

Halloween Sandwich

#Modern au

#Trick or treat with Ferrus and Fulgrim

#NSFW, 3p, noncon, reader is female...

#Happy Halloween with @roroco316

You had been so proud of your Halloween costume idea this year. Nothing too flashy or elaborate - just a classic ghost get-up that you could easily throw together from some old fabric layer. The pale, diaphanous draping perfectly complimented your lithe figure while offering an air of eerie mystery that you thought was deliciously spooky.

At least, that's what you assumed until the first trick-or-treaters showed up.

An insistent rapping at your front door drew your grinning steps, already clutching at an overflowing basket with all the sugary loot. Surely these kiddies would get a thrill at seeing your haunting visage lurking behind the threshold! Tossing the sheet's tattered hem up to better obscure your face, you creaked the door open with an ominous groan.

"Oooooh, which tiny monsters come calling at my house?"

With a dramatic flourish, you flung aside the covering only to freeze in utter stupefaction. Because the sight that greeted you on the other side was anything but childish innocence.

Framed in the flickering glow of your porch lights stood two towering, impossibly statuesque figures grinning down at you. Both were clad in... well, outfits that could barely be considered proper costumes—leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

The first was some sort of bejeweled, leather get-up that looked like it belonged in a particularly porno. Amethyst silken scarves swirling around his chiseled physique scarcely concealed perky nipples and an absolutely thunderous package bisecting his leather thong with obscene definition. His angular features had even been meticulously highlighted with eyeliner and artfully feathered bangs that framed his smoldering gaze with practiced allure.

And keeping him casual company was a positively rippling monolith of a man, dressed in...strategically wrapped bandages? His array of taut linen strips allowed tantalizing glimpses of sheened musculature and a deeply corrugated pelvis.

"What—?" Your voice came out in a strangled rasp, your diminutive form utterly dwarfed between these men You instinctively clutched your voluminous ghost sheet tight around your frame in self-consciousness, swallowing audibly. "Uh… hey… guys?"

"Why hellooo there, sexy little ghost," purred the first one, presumably Fulgrim by the voice with a serpentine undulation, his eyes practically smoldering like lava flows. "And just what brings you out haunting the streets on a night like this, hmm?"

They were hitting on you. You went completely rigid, your jaw doing its best impression of a gasping halibut as you processed the situation.

"You… gotta be kidding me...! How old are you two supposed to be exactly? Because I'm certainly not—"

"This old, dear” Fulgrim cooed in a lilting baritone, lifting a single finger to trace the curve of your chin.

Thankfully, the other man, Ferrus, elected to save his buddy from a well-deserved throat-punting by clearing his throat.

"Ah, don't mind my friend's poor manners, my little lady. The question still stands though..." His gaze lasered between your parted thighs like twin X rays, hefting a plastic pumpkin full of treats. "We've been… very good boys going door to door. So… are we due for some rewards… or does this evening demand a few tricks instead...?"

It took you a few seconds to process his insinuations before you physically recoiled, spine snapping rigid with incredulity.

"Wha—You... you've gotta be joking right now, you perverts! That's it, I'm not in the mood to deal with demented horndogs on Halloween!"

Your threat was sharply cut off as Fulgrim abruptly stepped in closer, effectively caging you against the doorframe with one palm slammed against the surface. You swallowed thickly at his proximity, the former's musky sandalwood cologne flooding your senses with intoxicating potency as he loomed overhead like an avalanche.

"Now, now...surely my stunning treat isn't asking for any...unpleasantries?" Fulgrim purred, tilting his head. "After all, I simply must insist on having my cake... and eating it too..."

His free hand brazenly snaked through the tattered concealing drape of your costume, fingers nimbly finding and tweaking your cloth-obscured nipple. You jolted with a yelping gasp at the sudden violation, only for Ferrus' tree-trunk-thick arms to wrap around you from behind and pin your flailing against his.

"Easy there, my little lady… ee can do this the easy way..." he growled against the back of your ear, the delicious heat of his breath already leaving you in a dizzy spiral.

Between their twin enormities compressing against your front and back, your head spun dizzily, fingers scrabbling for any leverage as you thrashed in weak protest. But every struggle only served to grind your vulnerable form against the solid bulwarks of their rippling muscles and swelling codpieces...

With a frustrated mewl, you finally wilted between your captors like a rag doll, eyelids fluttering as you stared up helplessly at Fulgrim's razor-carved jawline and gleaming smirk.

"F-Fine… you giant… freaks..." you rasped in meek capitulation. "I-I'll...give you your stupid Halloween treat this year..."

Because let's be honest here. Some tricks simply don't require costumes to be properly appreciated…

*****

Tyranid eat this part

*****

Somehow managing a shaky smirk through your dazed panting, you mustered a glare up at them both. Your voice was raspy but defiant.

"F..fuck you..." The words earned matching barks of lewd laughter from them both as they leaned in closer.

"Yeah..." Ferrus grinned. "Fuck me. All night long, little lady…”

#shiyorin's writer #romantic stuff in 40k #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #wh40crack #modern au

75 notes · View notes

itsabouttimex2 · 9 months ago

Text

A Brand New Journey:

Part Five

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

Macaque has always been so good to you. Even from the first day you accidentally stumbled onto him, he had been kind.

Your arm had been gashed open by an unfortunate fall, dripping blood and throbbing in pain with each shaky step forward. Although you had hoped to get home before dark and patch yourself up with an ever dwindling first-aid kit, praying that there were enough bandages and antiseptic left for the wound.

But then there were two sets of footsteps close behind, spurring you to disregard caution and start sprinting down the street-

Whereupon you had bumped into one very strange demon, wearing an inconspicuous ru and sporting a tattered scarf.

“Going somewhere, kiddo? You shouldn’t be in such a rush, you now. You might get hurt. Ah, but…”

His hand then shot forward to clamp around your wrist, turning it over to examine your bleeding forearm.

“Looks like you already did, huh? Here, let me just…”

Rip. Shriiiip.

The precise shredding of thick fabric, his clawed fingers cutting a rectangular strip from the already ragged scarf. He had placed one end on your wrist, then gave you a strange grin.

“Hang in there, kiddo.” The simian warned you almost too late, given barely a second to brace for the stinging pain of having a wound forcibly bound shut with naught but pressure and cloth.

Biting back a wail and a set of fresh tears, you watched the monkey demon firmly tie off the end of the makeshift bandage.

It had been such a simple thing to do- but you still cherished him for it all the same.

How you’ve come to cherish your precious mentor, who stares down at you now with a strange smile.

Lifting a sleeve to your puffy eyes, an effort is made to stand up- only for Macaque to push you back down.

“I don’t think you’re steady enough for that just yet, kiddo.” Base words to convince you to do as he says, and you believe him. You always do.

Have you ever not believed him? Even for a moment, has there ever been any doubt in your heart?

He wraps the crimson scarf a little tighter around you, making sure that it covers your shoulders and neck.

“Now, what’d you bring all the way out here? You really should know better than to carry such a fancy bag in a neighborhood like this, kiddo.”

Was this all your fault?

Maybe you should’ve wrapped the mooncakes up in something less appealing- grabbed one of the disposable plastic brown sacks from a grocery store before heading in.

How easy would that have been?

“I wanted to share a meal with you,” is the dull response you give, newly downcast and despondent. “I brought mooncakes and tea.”

“Aww, aren’t you just a gem? Just the nicest.”

Nice. Anyone can be nice, can’t they? But it’s a lot harder to be clever or strong or capable.

Maybe he’d be happier with a different student.

Maybe if you were less nice and more-

“C’mon, kiddo- are you eating or not?”

He’s already got everything ready, the mooncakes strewn across his coffee table, the bottles of tea in the microwave.

Strange. You never even saw him get up.

He notices your questioning eyes, and quickly shifts the subject.

“Real sweet of you to bring this all the way out- I’m guessing you got a good deal, if you brought all of this?”

“Y-yeah! Yeah, I, uh, I’ve been using an app that tells me about local deals, y’know? Saves some money, and, um, all that.”

“Smart,” he praises, and a rush of euphoria races through you at just that one word. It feels almost pathetic to rely so heavily on someone’s praise to feel good about yourself. Still, you can’t help but adore each moment he breaks from his reserved norm and drops an honest compliment.

“Go put your stuff up and get changed, kiddo. I’ll pour the tea and get cushions.”

An actual sit-down meal with your mentor! You wouldn’t just be snacking and chatting on the couch this time!

Jumping to your feet, you excitedly race to the guest room, painted in a smooth purple and decorated with black curtains. He had essentially given it to you, letting you settle in with him at least semi-permanently.

A shelf right next to your bed is stocked with mementos, most of them memories you’ve shared with Macaque. A little snap-together set you had convinced him to put together with you, a bright mecha built from colorful blocks. By the end of the build, you had learned that he’d much rather watch than try to fiddle pieces together with his claws.

A framed photo beside it of something that Macaque had enjoyed much more- pumpkin carving. In place of a serrated knife or design card, he had taken great joy in simply shredding precise diamonds into the thick orange hide of the vegetable. The carved gourd had looked something like a lantern by the end of his fun. It had even put him a good enough mood to allow for a photo to be taken.

And you had a photo of you, MK, and Mister Pigsy to put up, but-

Enough reminiscing! Your mentor is waiting for you, after all.

You throw on the coziest thing you have in the closet- an old nightgown, long abraded to softness. Black as night and cool to the touch, decorated with purple cloud embroidery. And it never seemed to stop smelling of plums, a scent you had grown familiar with very quickly.

You aren’t quite sure where it came from, or when you got it- just that it’s a few sizes too big and pools around you comfortably.

Shoes off, bag placed carefully in the corner, and then you’re racing back out to meet Macaque in the living room.

You don’t notice two golden-eyed figures slinking out of the shadows and into your room.

The coffee table is prepared, the bottled tea is poured into mugs and the mooncakes are laid out two by two. He’s even put your little sitting cushion beside his instead of across.

You quickly take your seat, Macaque’s hand coming to ruffle your hair.

“Are we ‘expanding my horizons’ again today, kiddo? An ice cream day wasn’t enough?”

“I want you to try nice things,” is your protest, causing his golden eyes to soften.

“That’s… sweet of you,” he admits, folding his arms. “Really, Y/N.”

“…yeah,” you awkwardly respond, grabbing one of the napkins Macaque had set out. You grab one of the mooncakes and wrap it, then pass it to your mentor. “Do you, uh, know what’s inside this one?”

The sable simian lifts the pastry to his nose, sniffing intently. Quickly, his face scrunches up. “Tsk. More ice cream? Not in all of them, I’m hoping. Unless you’re trying to give me cavities, kiddo.”

“No, there’s only four with ice cream- and we’ve got two of them right now. I know you don’t like your food too sweet.”

“You’re a good kid,” he chuckles, biting into the mooncake. Vanilla ice cream leaks from the middle, oozing onto his tongue.

In turn you munch on your own, slowly leaning your head onto his shoulder.

Macaque doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your form, yanking you closer.

“You’re a good kid,” he says again, an ancient look in his golden eyes. There’s a newfound contentedness in them, and a pang of something much darker boiling underneath that new satisfaction. “Mind if I ask you a question?”

Swallowing down the last bit of the sweet pastry, you nod. “Sure, Macaque.”

“Nothing big- just I wanna know how you feel about me, kiddo.”

…something is scraping around in the room Macaque has fixed up for you.

“Keep looking,” a quiet and steady voice says. “They wouldn’t have just left it anywhere.”

“Shut up,” another angrily returns. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rumble! You’re lucky that I’m even helping you!”

“…you’re the one who wanted to come in here and look, Savage.”

“Shut up! Hurry up and throw me their bag!”

With a groan, Rumble carries your backpack to his ‘brother’ and drops it in front of him.

“Be quick,” he cautiously reminds. “Those mooncakes won’t last forever.”

“…I didn’t find the book,” Savage snarls, his crimson fingers hitting glass.

“But I did find something.”

And slowly, he pulls out the photo of you and your friends.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Rumble #Yandere Savage #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Choose Your Own Adventure #A Brand New Journey #Yandere Mentor

153 notes · View notes

makethatelevenrings · 2 years ago

Note

OK LISTEN

Bruce x wife!reader where they just recently got married and adopted lil Dick. Reader is very pregnant and this is the first Valentine’s Day they aren’t doing fancy billionaire Valentine’s stuff and instead they’re sitting at home with their son and having a nice night in.

tw: pregnancy, female reader, mention of the Wayne parents

“This time last year, we were in designer clothes and eating escargot,” you hummed as you stripped off your blouse that you wore to work. Bruce was removing his cufflinks and unbuttoning his shirt, but he paused at your words.

“Do you regret staying in this year?”

Your head popped out of the closet and you shot him an incredulous look. “Darling, I thought you were much smarter than that. I’m elated that we’re staying in.”

Once in your pajamas, you left the closet and smoothed down Bruce’s t-shirt over your growing stomach. At thirty-six weeks pregnant, you were fucking waddling around and none of your clothes properly fit but thankfully, your husband was 6’4 and pure muscle. His soft, cotton t-shirts fit you like a charm and the drawstring pajama pants Alfred insisted on gifting you every Christmas eve was the perfect addition.

“Hurry up,” you chastised. “We’ve got an excited nine year old downstairs.”

Bruce chuckled and pushed away from his dresser to stand in front of you. He kneeled down and pressed a kiss to the fabric that covered your stomach. “I don’t know how you managed to convince Alfred to let him have candy.”

“Pregnancy card works wonders.” You beamed and patted his cheek twice. “Now, c’mon. Or Dickiebird and I will just have to drink all the hot cocoa without you.”

Bruce watched as you toddled out of the bedroom before he rushed to change into sweats. The minute the pregnancy test said positive, his already protective nature ramped up to eleven. The second you reached thirty weeks, Bruce didn’t want you out of his sight.

With the addition of little Dick to the family, a baby was the last thing on your mind but an extended Justice League mission and threats of world domination meant a very welcoming return and two lines on a plastic stick.

As Bruce stepped onto the landing and made his descent to the first floor where peals of laughter and shrieks of delight erupted from the kitchen, he paused for a moment and turned back to look at the black shrouded portrait of his parents.

If only they could see him now. Married to the most incredible woman with a son and another child on the way…

He pushed aside the “what ifs” and continued to the kitchen. He knew your threat about the hot cocoa was very serious.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fluff #batman x reader #batman imagine #batman fluff #valentine’s day series

1K notes · View notes

cliophilyra · 1 month ago

Text

2024 Fic Round Up

Tagged by @loucifersbitch - thank you so much!! 🩷

This year I wrote 20 fics and a total of 36,619 words (I haven't included the 2x Destiel ones here as there's enough to list already!)

JULY

Like A Circus Wheel | saltommy | E | 1432 wds.

"He's insinuating that you're gay." Tommy looks over at Sal’s smart-ass smirk and for a second he’s frozen. Sal’s expression doesn’t change but something in his eyes feels like a challenge.

Show You Off | Bucktommy | E | 2083 wds

“Maybe we should move this to the bedroom?” he murmurs. “Otherwise we’re gonna be giving the neighbours a show.” Buck’s mouth is suddenly bone-dry. Memories of a mis-spent exhibitionist youth suddenly flood back and his breath shallows, mouth falling open a little, cock twitching as he swallows hard. Tommy pulls back and looks him in the eye, eyebrow raised. “Oh. You like that idea baby?”

Keys to Fit Our Locks | saltommy | T | 1133 wds.

Tommy comes home to something surprising. Just some soft, silly, sort-of-established Saltommy.

AUG

Every Little Sacrifice | saltommy | E | 3335 wds

Tommy jumps down from the engine the moment it stops, already heading to the gear racks as the rest of the team clamber out behind him, the stench of melted plastic and hot metal surrounding them. He needs to get away from the smell, it’s choking him, filling his throat. He coughs, trying to clear out the memory. Sal flashes him his most charming grin, blue eyes bright in his soot-streaked face, and claps him on the shoulder as he passes. Tommy doesn’t stop and doesn’t meet his confused gaze, his jaw muscles tick as he bites back the fury thrumming through his veins. He strips off his turnouts in record time and heads up the stairs without a backward glance.

Honey I'm Home | bucktommy | T | 762 wds

“Hey honey I’m home,” Buck murmurs to himself, half-falling through the door into the dark entrance hall of Tommy’s house. The whole day has been a seemingly endless stream of small, silly calls, each bell draining more and more of his energy, leaving him a shell of the man he was when he left that morning. It had been a great morning too. Two orgasms before he’d even had his coffee had seemed like a pretty promising start to the day and then he’d spent most of his shift on a constant simmer, half hard in his turnouts because his boyfriend, who was having the opposite sort of day at work, decided it would be a good idea to send him shirtless selfies taken in the Harbor locker room that would have been rejected from the firefighter calendar for being too pornographic.

Calendar Boy | bucktommy | E | 2505 wds

“What’s up baby?” Tommy asks, concerned, walking over to kiss the side of his head. “It’s the most insufferable time of the year,” Hen mutters, not looking up. Tommy looks down at the photos covering the table and stops short, blinking in surprise. Oh. “It’s the LAFD calendar,” Evan says, as if that explains everything, which, in a way Tommy supposes it does. Tommy’s eyes widen as he takes in the piles of pictures of semi-- and, in some cases, more than semi-- naked Evan that are spread across it. He swallows awkwardly, his tongue all of a sudden seeming too big for his mouth, and manages an only-slightly-strangled, “Oh?”

Solace | bucktommy | T | 615 wds

Buck comes home to Tommy after a very bad day.

SEPT

Nicknames | saltommy | M | 529 wds

A few nicknames, endearments and insults from Sal and Tommy’s relationship.

Desk Defying | saltommy | E | 2478 wds

Sal and Tommy decide to take out their frustrations on top of Gerrard's desk.

Riding Up Front | bucktommy | E | 5511 wds

Buck is outside in the yard, blasting the engine with the high pressure hose and entertaining murderous fantasies of turning the hose on Gerrard and blowing him through a fucking wall. The bastard is on the warpath today as usual, finding a seemingly endless list of pointless tasks for each of them. When Tommy arrives unexpectedly it dawns on Buck that the engine is conveniently just out of sight, pulled around the side of the firehouse and the rest of the crew are occupied and a terrible, brilliant and honestly somewhat familiar plan forms in his mind.

When you're tastin what he's drinkin (are you thinkin bout me?)

bucktommy w/ past saltommy | M | 1893 wds

Sal runs into Tommy with Buck at a bar and drags up old memories.

OCT

If It Comes Back | saltommy | E | 3773 wds

Tommy & Sal reconnect at a wedding.

NOV

A Quiet Night In | bucktommy | T | 1190 wds

Just some fluff & cuddles - post 8x6 comfort

DEC

Flashover | bucktommy | G | 2724 wds

When his phone rang this evening he was on the floor in front of his couch, in the middle of another fifty push-ups, TV on in the background playing a show that he couldn't have named or described if someone put a gun to his head. He didn't pick it up, didn't even glance at it, just let it vibrate its way across the table and fall on the floor. The third time it rang he finally picked it up, annoyed, and glanced at the caller ID. Sal Deluca. Jesus Christ, talk about a blast from the past. He'd answered it without even thinking. "Sal?" "Kinard. Open your door. It's pissing rain out here."

You Should Probably Leave | saltommy | E | 2347 wds

“Doesn’t look like it’s coming back on anytime soon.” Tommy says, looking out of the window at the dark street. “It’s the whole block at least.” He turns back to Sal who is spread out on his couch, beer bottle in one hand, one foot on the floor. “Ah shit, guess I’ll just have to stay here then huh?” Sal smirks, eyebrow raised as he stretches his arms above his head so his t-shirt rides up, exposing the trail of dark hair that disappears under his waistband. Behind him on the table a candle lantern flickers, deepening the shadows and planes of his features, casting crawling shapes over the walls. Tommy's throat is dry, he swallows hard. He already knows how the rest of this night goes. How it always goes.

Taken | saltommy | M | 884 wds

Jack shakes his hand, holding it just a fraction too long, smiling up at him almost shyly. "Hi Tommy. Sooo, I know this is kind of a cliche but…um…would you maybe like to get a drink sometime? With-with me?" "Kinard! Get your ass back on the truck!" Sal's voice snaps out. Tommy tries not to laugh for Jack's sake. "Jack, you seem great but I—" Jack sighs. "Figures. You're clearly way too hot to be available. Ah well I had to try, right?" "Kinard!"

10 Weddings and No Funerals | saltommy | T (will go up) | WIP

In order to survive a summer of wedding fever, longtime friends, Tommy and Sal, agree to be each other's plus one at every wedding they've been invited to. AU based on Plus One (2019).

Kisses | saltommy | G | series WIP

Some replies to the kisses prompt meme on Tumblr. Currently all saltommy - may add some bucktommy later. Rating may change.

Here's to a creative 2025!

Tagging - @rdng1230 @littlepaws9 @bucksbignaturals @fuselsstuff @peppermintquartz @bangpop91 @nine-one-wanton @girlwonder-writes @thecarrott @judymarch15 @racerchix21 @weewookinard @loulou-land and literally anyone else I know or who sees this and wants to do it. My brain is shutting down now lol.

HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!!

#bucktommy #saltommy #911 abc #911 fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #sal deluca #writing

28 notes · View notes

quilly72 · 1 month ago

Text

Part 2 MiracleGro

Hurry up hurry up. - We will just say the last couple weeks had been rough for everyone in the Kansas area. That stupid formula and that stupid fire had sent the county into a state of panic. You and your wife amber had to have water shipped from Colorado just to be safe. - You ran out to the carport as you tried to drag the last of your supplies into the storm shelter. You could see a slight mist forming off in the distance as the rain and the storm approached Fuck come on hurry up as you dragged the rest of the rations towards your home.

- The storm was approaching just a week earlier the growth formula this new company had created accidentally escaped into the atmosphere in a fire that sent the entire place to the ground. The first girl to be affected was something like 250 ft tall now and had been dragged off by the government to who knows where. They all thought that was the end of it. But the storm didn't break up like they thought. By the time your little ranching community got warning that it was coming towards you at full force it was too late to run.

You quickly ran back to the garage to try and grab everything you needed to hunker down. Emergency blankets food and water. As you grabbed your final armload you turned to see the water sprinkling around you. Any drop could potentially carry the formula. Even the slightest drop could mean an irreversible change to your body.

As the rain started to pick up you looked at the little unroofed gap you would have to jump. Taking a deep breath as you took the emergency blanket out of its packaging and wrapping it around yourself. As soon as you felt it was good enough you leaped. The shattering of raindrops across plastic being heard as you landed on the other side. Instinctively you thrashed the blanket away from you as soon as you were under cover. Patting yourself down as you assured yourself you were dry.

You got back up and darted in with the rest of the supplies. Putting the supplies on the tarp with all your food and dragging it thru the door.

Amber amber open the basement door you yelled thru the house. You heard the door unlock and the slight scurrying of your gf behind it. You came to the hallway as she was holding the door open. Here throw these things down for me. You should have checked harder but instinctively no one really perceives water as a threat. The puddle at the bottom of the tarp didn't catch you off guard as you started handing her cans and water bottles. She grabbed them and threw them down the short stairway as you picked up a can from the bottom of the tarp as soon as you picked it up the weight shifted and the water pooled outthe sides. Not alot but just enough to do it's damage. You tried to dodge it tossing the wet can against ambers pants in the process but you werent fast enough. Your shoes immediately soaking thru as amber backed away and screamed.

Ypu tried to strip your wet clothes off but you couldn't grab it without getting your hands wet . Amber however was a bit luckier managing to drag her pants amd shoes off before they soaked all the way thru or atleast she thought. She backed up as you struggled to pry your clothes off as the water seeped across your skin.

The tingle going thru your body as you groaned. It was almost instantaneous with how much you were exposed to. Amber gasped as your clothes started to hang off of you. Your shirt dragging down. Your head lowering against hers. You were too busy too notice until you looked back up.

Amber was already twice your height. You were at her hips. She stared back at you as you started to become buried in your own clothes. Tears coming to her eyes as she opened the basement door and hid herself behind it.

Babe wait help me just grab a towel or something

Wait wait don't leave me.

Your voice pitching up as you were now at her thighs. Then her knees. Then her calves. You were as wide around as both her lower legs were. Her feet half your size. You could probably fit inside your own shoe if needed for a bed. You pants and shirt constrained you as they continued to drag you down. They were so heavy. You tried to reach up as amber shut the door with a stifled cry.

*** Amber held back her cries as she shut and locked the door. It wasnt long before his voice trailed off into little mouse squeaks. There was nothing she could do for him. Meanwhile she lowered herself down the stairs with what she had. Turning on the lights there was more than enough for just her for multiple days. Amber grabbed a towel as she took his advice and tried to make sure she was completely dry. Running it through her hair. Her legs her feet her face. The towel lifted off just as dry as before as amber took a sigh of relief.

She started to check all the windows all the walls for leaks as she made sure everything was all dry as well. Everything coming back satisfactory as she made her way to the supplies. The rain grew thicker outside almost loud enough to drown out her worries. She combed thru her supplies with a towel as she tried to make a plan right now all she had to worry about was dinner. She knelt down next to her first set of food as she failed to hear water trickling down the stairs. The puddle her boyfriend had fallen victim to never being cleaned up. There was only one entrance in this entire basement not sealed to water and it trickled closer and closer almost as if the water had a mind of its own.

Amber didn't even feel it as it puddled next to her foot. Touching and eclipsing her heel as she squatted next to her food slowly unraveling a packet of granola bars.

It wasnt till she broke contact did amber feel the tingle shoot up thru her leg and out into the rest of her body.

Amber's eyes grew wide as she turned around. She saw it now. Water trickling down the stairs step by step. The water had leaked into the house and now into the basement and as the rain grew heavier so did the flooding. The small puddle at the foot of the stairs growing inch by inch and expanding faster as more water started to pour thru the crack at the bottom of the door.

Amber grabbed her towel as she tried to wipe off her foot. The less water and less time she was exposed the less damage it would do.

Although some had already been done. She grunted and whined as her leg tingled and spasmed longer. Her knees buckled under the unforeseen pressure as her body sprung up half an inch. Amber's breathing picked up as she tried to calm herself. I'm fine it's fine I got it off In time I'll only grow abit and then I'm done. I can do with an extra foot or two.

Amber tried to compose herself as all the statistics flew thru her mind. Even a small drop could cause up to 5 ft of growth but only if you let it fully soak in. If you dried the affected area you could cut the growth short and maybe only be caught with an extra foot or even two if you were unlucky.

Her legs tingled and wobbled again as she moaned thru but lips. Another inch pressing out as her feet pressed against the floor. Her head rushed with lightheadedness as the ground seemed to press away. It was just an inch but how disorientated just one inch and some panic can do.

Fuck fuck fuck okay first things firrrrsssst. Amber croaked our as her chest lifted up. Her boobs gaining a cup size in justa. Couple seconds. Her bra straps pressing into her shoulders. Amber tried to focus as the water puddle at the foot of the stairs seemed to not be slowing down. Checking the windows outside showed the reason why. There was almost what looked like 6 to 8 inches of water flooding outside. And it was easily making it's way down to their basement. The thundering of the waterfall at the stairs backed it up. As the water Continued to lap closer and closer. Amber grabbed some plastic lining as she tried to create a wall. She laid some plastic and bricks against the floor but the water just seeped underneath it before she could weigh it dully down.

She was quickly running out of...fuucckck ...room

Amber sprung up again this time 2 Inches all at once. Her legs were violently shaking. They seemed to be taking most of the brunt of the growth as amber looked down and took a self assessment. Her feet seemed to be 3 sizes larger and her underwear rode Into her hips like she was wearing so thing 2 sizes too small. Her body churned and groaned as she leveled out. She wobbled as she tried to catch her balance. As she looked around she guessed she was maybe 4 inches taller or so it was too hard to tell.

Meanwhile amber continued to back up her growth not helping her cause as the door continued to let the water rip inside. The windows and thundering outside showed that the rain wasn't calming down and even some of the windows were starting to let drops or trickles down the wall. Amber backed up to one of their shelfs at the edge of the basement as the water pressed closer and closer. It was like a bathtub rapidly filling up the entire space leaving no ground unsubmerged. Amber pressed all the way against the shelves as her eyes darted from side to side. Looking for dry ground. She hurled towels and blankets at the water trying to slow its progress as it continued to soak and infiect everything it touched.

Amber took a high pitched shrilled breath as she grew again. Her butt pressing into the shelf and then over it as she inched further up. Her eyes clenching shut as the electricity boiled over and thru her skin. Her legs almost giving out. As they stretched out again maybe another two inches. Amber panicked under her breath as her head leveled up to one of the higher shelves. She had to be pushing just under 6 ft by now. As her long shirt dragged further up her body and sat on the back of her ass like a shelf itself.

Left with nowhere to go amber started to lean on and then shuffle upthe shelves. The thin wood creaking under her as the water creeped it's way all the way to the wall. No officially just inching up taller and taller closer and closer to her. The entire place was submerged as the water Continued to press inside.

She took a breath as she shuffled up another shelf just in case. But she couldn't calm herself. The wood kept creaking. She couldn't rest her arms were already starting to get weak as her center of gravity wasn't resting over anything.

Amber felt another tingle building In her legs as she whimpered. She tucked it inside as she tried to hold it back. Her legs shook as she clung to the walls of the shelves tighter. Her fingers clasping whatever they could to keep her balance. Her face clenched with unreleased energy. Her eyes held shut as if she were trying to blot out all the light that could come in. Her brows furrowed as her entire body started to creak and groan. Her body almost shivering from the pressure.

Please no please nooot agaainn Just stop I can't fall not now just please...fuuuu... Amber clenched her mouth biting her lips as her body vi rated more and more. She couldn't hold it any longer. She shrieked loud enough to be heard thru the house thruthe thundering as her body grew again. 3 whole inches. Her entire body was hit by it all at once. Her breasts bulged into the framework of the shelves. Folding over and under the shelf they pressed into. Her straps digging into her back causing it to go red in seconds.

Her head shot up and hit the top shelf as a sharp pain shot thru her. Her arms twitched as they elongated. Her ass bubbled backwards as her thighs and hips stretched and groaned to compensate.

With all of that what really did her in was her legs. Her feet and legs shivered and trembled with growth as they shot downwards. Her left foot cracking and breaking the shelf as it shot thru like a bullet. Not much growth but just enough to lose her balance Her body weight dragged down and before amber could regain her footing she fell down. Her arms too weak to hold her up alone.

Amber failed as she lost her balance. First her feet splashed in then the back of her calves. She threw her hands back to catch herself as she landed on her butt. The water splashing out and them back onto her before she could ever try to get out. The water lapped a quarter of the way up her legs.

Before amber could even try to get back up and out her body shot out in every direction. She was overcome with electricity of growth as her legs flailed out a foot. Water rushing and pushing away as her ass doubled in size. Her hair fell down her back as her thong ripped off if her. Next was her bra which feebly fell to water as her chest gained 5 cup sizes. Her torso gained a foot as her head shot up towards the roof.

Nooo fuuuck ahahhhhh HEEEELlLLLLPPpPP

Ambers voice quivered as her body thrashed in the water. Her body trembling shaking g and violently exploding out. Her thighs rippled the water out of the way inches at a time. Her ass thrashing the water up against the walls as it billowed out surge after surge. Her hair floated out into the water as the top of her head slammed into the wooden crossbeams underneath her house. Her back folding and pushing up against the foundation as well as the house above her began to creek ND groan. Her arms failed out to the concrete sides as they powederized and cracked due to the force of her arms. Her screams drowned out the rain. Each new surge sent foot after foot yard after yard piling out into her and everything surrounding ding her. The water level rising I side the basement as her body filled more space. Uer legs toppled and crumbled shelves. Cans and storage bins crumpling underneath and between her body. The wood above her finally snapped as she tore thru the splinters and beams up Into the living room above. The water from above pouring over her chest as it blossomed out into the shrapnel of wood. Forcing the beams to fold and spli ter more as her chest burst thru the floor. It wasnt long before her head hit the roof of the house. The support beams feebly putting up half a fight as she pressed into them. Her head was the size of her couch which coincidentally was being crushed between her tits which had just flooded her living room. Shattering her TV against the wall.

Down below ambers knees folded up into the floor as her feet pressed cabinetry into concrete and the windows and cement started to crack and press out into the earth around. More water flooding in drowning her lower body as she continued to let out moans and screams as she clenched her body in perpetual potential energy. Always having too much pressure to release at once like a sneeze that never full came but just continued to build up.

Amber ruptured out into the storm above as her head broke out into the rain. The roof folding down into her boobs which bounced it back outwards as chest ruptured thru the attic. Her butt filling g the entire basement underneath with her thighs as her two legs came toppling up and out thruthe front of the house. Her arms shoulders and waist following suit as her body became fully exposed to the elements.

Surge after surge. Amber began to lose herself to the storm. Her feet and legs draping off past the fog to the point that she couldn't see them. Her chest dragged so heavy that she fell to her back lieing down as her torso crushed the rest of her house under her. Her vision darkening as her legs dragged further into the flooded dirt. Her body rolling over into her neigh or's houses as the crushing of wood and stone rolled like thunder The meadows of wheat crushed under her legs as they plowed further across the road. She was too weak to fight or move or scream as she felt her body finally stop absorbing the water. Her body's trembling no longer shaking the earth and leveling foundations around her.

***

3 hours later the storm clouds finally passed. Harmlessly passing off into the countryside and growing the crops to ungodly sizes for culling. Rescue teams in full water tight suits poured put into the small towns found caught in the rainstorms. Helicopters and trucks fling in to assess the damage and rescue the needy.

The channel 35 news helicopter flew over as they counted those who had grown out and now lay over towns all at varying sizes and shapes. They circled the area as they identified one woman stuck halfway inside and halfway outside a gas station maybe around 40 ft tall.

Another who stood completely naked in a what field around 175 ft tall. One lay across half the town as she looked to measure 2 football fields Off in the distance they noted amber. Laying unconscious across the fields a couple miles outside town laying at what was to later be recorded at 763 ft and 2 inches. A new state record atleast for now.

#giantess growth #gtsgrowth #giantess #miraclegro

37 notes · View notes